The Making of a Drone
by MissMary
Summary: The story of how Sam became the first drone made from a human. While this story is a prequel to "Recall", it can be read on its own. Dark little one-shot, some violence.


**The Making of a Drone**

This story is an independent one-shot which is a prequel to Recall Revisited. The original Recall was begun by Jason Grey, and this was written at that time and published with permission.

Here is the link s/8295076/1/Recall-revisited

I am told this story is dark, but I don't see that.- then again, I wrote it, so I'm biased. It is not above a T-rating, promise, and nothing graphic. If you have an opinion, please share it by review or personal message.

I do not own Transformers except in my daydreams.

Megatron watched the Four go, and thought back on Alpha, the way he was in the beginning. This Four was Alpha, he was certain of it, and soon the Four would remember. He always did. And the cycle would begin again- or would it?

It took a year to make the first exoskeleton after he claimed the human as his own. Sam, forced to watch as it was built, enduring test after test and then the needed attachments, tried everything to stop the process.

In the year before they put him into the exoskeleton, Sam taught Megatron a great deal about what he needed to put in the obedience programming, and a great deal about the creativity humans were capable of. He was one human in a base of an increasing numbers of Decepticons, and never stopped surprising them.

They started by putting him in a cage. That lasted a very short time, before they realized that if he were to stay healthy, Sam needed regular access to sunlight, water, food, and sanitation. Especially sanitation- the smell started almost immediately.

So Megatron told Scalpel and Starscream to work out what the boy needed. As a result, Sam had a room sized pen with no ceiling that had a place to sleep, a supply of food and bottled water, a solvent to use to clean himself, and a toilet equivalent. He never did figure out how the toilet worked, except that he could knock it over and it did not spill. There were several rooms with windows that someone took Sam to for sunlight. Clothes appeared at irregular intervals, most of it close to his size. The solvent did work to clean the clothes Sam liked best.

His enclosure was in the workroom that held the exoskeleton they were making him. Starscream and Scalpel would take him out for tests, measurements, and scans. Megatron ordered that invasive, painful tests were reserved for punishment to ensure that the two scientists did not do them for fun. Megatron himself appeared at regular intervals. He would take Sam outside at times, carrying him the way people carry small children. Other times he asked questions. He would dump small things in the enclosure with orders to clean them or hook a wire or something similar, meticulous work for the large mechs, and simple for Sam. Others would do the same from time to time, but Sam was not required to do work for others unless he chose to, which kept them reasonably civil. The mild work kept Sam from going completely insane from boredom.

Sam figured out that he was an option for entertainment when a lot of the Decepticons were bored. They always started by trying to get under his skin in one way or another. Sam discovered that if he ignored them long enough, they would either leave or move on to a real conversation. That could run from rambling about the old days on Cybertron to asking about human behavior. He would listen to their stories and ask questions. That mellowed their attitude a little toward him, which saved him some aggravation and made them a little more willing to follow orders regarding his needs. Megatron had them on standing orders to scavenge non-perishable food and water for their human when available. He had to make that limitation when one of them brought garbage, not really out of spite but not really understanding what Sam could and could not eat.

Answering the questions about humans meant discussion about the two species was unavoidable. Those discussions left Sam depressed. He was too young and inexperienced to effectively argue that humans were not inferior. Worse, the Decepticons always told him he was getting a chance to become more like them, and he should be grateful.

He gave Optimus the Cube to get the war off of Earth, and put bluntly, it did not work. He thought constantly about his terrible mistake. Yes, the All-Spark was gone, but Megatron was not leaving, not at all. Earth, apparently, was a treasure trove of natural resources, both on the planet and in space and Megatron saw no reason at all not to harvest them to begin his new conquests. The fact that there were several billion humans on the planet was an annoyance to be dealt with. Megatron held a grudge against humans for holding him in stasis. His attitude was that all humans benefited from the technology that was stolen from him and so all of them would pay.

Sam, however, was special. His grandfather found Megatron, causing him to be taken into hiding, and the grandchild, who had taken something from Megatron that he wanted, would pay for both of those debts, serving Megatron in whatever way needed for the same amount of time as Megatron endured his imprisonment. "I won't live that long," Sam pointed out, and wished he could sew his mouth shut when Megatron laughed.

"Do you think I don't know how short your pitiful lives normally are? "he sneered. "_You_ will, "and showed him the beginnings of the exoskeleton. "When you are in this, you will be my most loyal servant, programmed by me personally." In that moment, Sam decided that no matter what, he would never go into that shell. He would find a way out, in any way he could.

Optimus and the others did get away from the Decepticons and leave for space, so Megatron did not have the All-Spark. At the same time, humanity had no allies, and Megatron was gathering his forces, from what Sam could hear.

One afternoon, Megatron took Sam outside for a time. Setting Sam on the ground, he tied a rope round the boy. Sam stretched the rope to its limit, and got yanked closer a few times. Then Megatron got involved in a com message, and Sam took the opportunity. Megatron yanked on the rope a few times and felt something respond, and thought nothing of it, until he looked up and found the rope was tied to a bush and Sam was nowhere to be seen. He was surprised and amused that the boy dared to try an escape.

They were in the middle of farm country, where there was human habitation but not a lot of it. It was hot, but the corn in the fields was high and vast. There were clouds, and that made it humid but somewhat cooler, and maybe there would be rain. There was an occasional breeze. Sam plowed through to a dirt road and walked along that, listening carefully for pursuit. There would be help somewhere; he just had to get to it.

The base was on an abandoned air hanger with warehouses, once used by both crop dusters, private planes, and a few businesses, in the middle of farm country. Sam would be easy to find; he was small, he was human, and he could only move so fast. Megatron contacted his team, set a perimeter, and got the search started. Three hours later, they all discovered that finding a human in a field full of specialized organic grass higher than the human was not as easy as it sounded, especially when the wind was blowing and you did not want to kill the human. Finally Starscream saw Sam when he moved into an open space. Since he brought Sam in, he got to do several of the more painful tests he wanted. Scalpel was jealous.

The second time Sam managed to climb out of a window when left in a room with one. He made it through the corn to an interstate, walked beside it until he found a rest station with telephones, and made his distress call. After using the restroom, he found a spot to wait. Exhausted after a day's walk in unbearable tension, followed by real hope, in addition to the fact that it was between midnight and dawn, he was dozing when Barricade and Sideways appeared. The lobby of the rest station was torn up by the time they got hold of him.

Scalpel got permission that day for several invasive, painful tests, requiring restraints to keep Sam still. When the doctor bot finished the tests, Starscream injected Sam with something and told him that from now on he could be tracked. The next day he took Sam out of the cage and told him he had an hour's head start.

Starscream was pissed off and the rest of the Decepticons were laughing by the time he found the boy. Instead of trying to escape through the corn, Sam got a water bottle and some food, voided outside, and then slipped into one of the warehouses that surrounded the hanger, and hid. Starscream was able to track him to the warehouse, but had trouble getting to him as the supplies were needed and could not just be destroyed. Sam waited until his stalker was in the middle of the supplies, wiggled out, and went out the back door, at which time he crawled under Barricade, who was recharging in his alt form in the courtyard. When brought out of his recharge by Starscream trying to reach under him, Barricade got snippy, and in the resulting argument, Sam slid out and made it under the derelict building near the garage, where the offices were once kept.

It was a warm day and Sam was sweating in a metal building without ventilation for a long time. He spent most of the previous day walking. The crawl space was cool. Sam listened to the argument with half an ear while he looked for another place to hide, and rested his head on his arm. He did not see anything, and decided to rest for a moment before he crawled to the other side of the building.

He woke to the sound of breaking glass. Starscream was cursing. Sam crawled through the rest of the crawl space only to discover that the only place to get in was the way he came in. Breaking windows followed him. Sam inferred that while Starscream could tell he was moving, he could not tell that Sam was under the house and not inside it.

Someone-it sounded like Sideways- started talking to the jet and Sam took the chance to peek out. He could see a tank sitting nearby and made for it. He was squatting behind it and panting when it started to move. Sam bolted out of the way, heading for the nearest building, when Megatron told him to stop. "What are you doing out and why are you so filthy?" the Decepticon leader asked, eying Sam and looking over at Starscream. He bent and picked Sam up while Starscream explained. "Very wise," the Decepticon leader told a startled Sam, then handed him to Starscream. "Clean him up, and I had better not see a new bruise or scratch."

When Sam was clean and in clean clothes, a process neither he nor Starscream enjoyed, Megatron picked him up to take him into the next room. "See the progress?" he said, showing Sam the exoskeleton. It was more than half-way done. "You belong to me. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be." He put Sam down in his pen. Sam promised himself that he would never go in that exoskeleton if he had to bite his own wrists open and bleed to death first- but he would hold on that until the last minute. There must be a way to get out, he told himself.

However, it was another month, while Sam watched in growing fear and desperation as the exoskeleton came closer to completion, before Sam got another opportunity. Scalpel complained that the tracker got in the way of his scans. Starscream demonstrated that a magnet would stop the tracker long enough for Scalpel to get his scans, with the device and the magnet countering each other. Sam tried to snag a magnet while they were snipping at each other, but Scalpel noticed and took it away, smacking him painfully as he did so. Sam hated Scalpel more than any of the other Decepticons, including Starscream.

None of the larger bots like being around during a thunderstorm; they made great lightning targets, and sometimes a close strike would bother the instruments on the base, making the one who had to deal with them bitch for hours.

Hook and the rest of the Constructicons came in one day with crate after crate and told Sam to sort out the contents. It took Sam hours to dump and sort out the contents, which were mostly ammunition, unfortunately without the weapons to go with it. One crate, however, held some army uniforms and another held army rations. Sam was glad to see the food; what he normally got were cans with no way to heat the contents and no utensils to eat with. The green packages said 'meals ready to eat' and Sam hoped that they were. One crate held tools. Sam had the crates lined up with the contents in front of them when Hook came in with Megatron. They made Sam hand up the ammunition and most of the tools. Sam complained about the tools.

"I prefer Scalpel and Frenzy to stay on one piece, "Megatron said dryly, knowing exactly how Sam felt about both of those Decepticons. "You can keep the rest. "When left alone, Sam tried on the uniforms, which were the older green camouflage instead of the desert colors, and looked worn though not trashed. One was a rain jacket with a hood. In with the tools left with him, Sam found a magnet. Then he heard thunder, and his eyes fell on the crates.

The storm arrived a few hours later, with winds and heavy rain and a great deal of thunder and lighting. For a time all the machinery flickered. The tracker alarm went off, and Starscream checked on Sam. He saw the human lying quiet in his sleeping place and turned off the tracker alarm until a few hours after the storm passed.

The alarm went off again. The jet reset it, and the alarm returned after the reset. Annoyed, Starscream checked the pen again. This time, he saw a lump on the bed, but a quick check showed that the lump was only cloth. The empty crates were stacked against one of the corners, high enough for Sam to reach the top of the wall. Sam was gone.

Sam found that the rain jacket kept some of the rain out, but not most of it. He was solidly soaked by the time the storm ended. This time he found a two lane highway and walked it while his shoes squelched and the rest of him dried slowly. He ate the meals he brought while keeping a very wary eye on the sky.

The sheriff's car was brown and tan instead of black and white. He saw the man on the side of the road who ran for cover as soon as he stopped. The deputy approached him cautiously. He grew up in this county and knew just about everyone, and he was sure this was a stranger. Either he was a vagrant, which was rare out here in the middle of farm country and off the major highways, or he was in trouble.

When called to, the man stopped. At this point, the deputy did not know what to think. The guy wore camo but had on worn tennis shoes. He looked like he had been out in the rain. At a closer look, the deputy could see that there was the scraggly beginning of a beard, and realized that this man was only a teenager, and a seriously spooked one at that. He kept glancing at the sky and the road, ready to bolt at any minute. He had bruises on his arm where the shirt did not cover, and on his neck.

The deputy made his decision. At worst, they could run the guy to the nearest charity for the homeless. He talked the guy into the car, and once there, got them moving before he started asking questions. The answers had him convinced that the guy surely needed help, but maybe not the kind the guy thought he did. The deputy wondered if the guy was on a trip or if he _needed_ drugs. The guy did say his name, Samuel James Witwicky, but asked that it not be said over the radio, that the people he escaped from monitored the police bands. Once at the station, though, he gave his information as fast as they could take it.

Checking their databases, they discovered-not much to the deputy's surprise- that Sam was a missing person, but the only other information was to call a number none of them had ever seen or heard of. The sheriff, Bennett Wilcox, shrugged and called it while the secretary, Wilma, gave Sam one of her diet Cokes. The more the deputy looked at Sam, the more he felt sorry for him. He was not starved, but he was really skinny, as though he did not eat regularly. He was pale, as though he almost never saw the sun. When he took off the jacket, there were bruises and small cuts all over his arms. His hair was a little longer than the norm, and matted, as though he was not able to comb it. Surprisingly, he did not reek the way a lot of vagrants did.

When the sheriff reached someone on the line, he said they had someone called Samuel James Witwicky, but he had no ID. He described Sam. Then he put the phone on the speakerphone, and the phone asked in a bored voice, "Who was the enemy in the ice?"

"Megatron," Sam said immediately. "And he's not far from here."

"One more," the voice said, but this time it was tense and excited. "What was Satan's Camaro?"

"Bumblebee," Sam said, and his voice broke. The voice on the phone told the sheriff to call a different number and give the phone to Sam, off speakerphone. The sheriff gave the phone to Sam, gestured for the deputy to stay there, and went to make the other call. "Will?" The rest of the conversation was as strange as the questions they asked the guy. Someone called Bumblebee was evidently all right, as were his parents and what sounded like a girlfriend. Sam did his best to say where he came from, and here the deputy sat up and paid attention.

Sam handed the phone to the deputy at one point. "This is Major Will Lennox, Special Forces," said the voice on the line. "The kid said you might know where he was talking about?"

"Yeah," the deputy said, " it sounds like the old private airport we had here once. When the economy tanked, the guy lost the place to the bank, and as far as we knew it was still abandoned."

"Yeah, that would work." Lennox sounded grim. "Look, what's your name?"

"Jerry White, sir. I'm a deputy here, I brought Sam in."

"You did good. Now look. You remember hearing about Mission City? This kid was in the middle of that, and he got snatched by the folks who made all the trouble. We need to know what he knows, and we're coming to get him. In the meantime, you get all the information you've got on that place and e-mail it this address." He recited the address as Jerry wrote the information down. "Now give the phone back to Sam."

As soon as Sam got the phone back, Jerry reached for the phone book and some maps. Vaguely he heard Sam pleading for them to hurry. "I don't know how much of a head start I got, but they're going to be looking, and there are a lot of people here."

Evidently Lennox calmed the kid down some, as he hung up the phone soon after.

The sheriff came over, as tense as Jerry ever saw him. "Good, you're already on it. They're bringing in all kinds of shit. Kid, what the hell's going on in my county?"

"They call themselves Decepticons," Sam said. "They have cars and planes that turn into giant robots. You remember a long time ago when we had a base in Qatar taken out? That was them. Major Lennox was there when it happened. One of them tore up a military base, and only one group got out alive, his people. One of their bases is in your county, Sheriff, with," he started counting on his fingers, adding them up, "somewhere around twenty of them. " He laughed a little hysterically. "One of the cars is a black and white that had 'to punish and enslave' on the side. I think they've been here more than a year. I don't know for sure, but the place was set up already when I got there, right after Mission City. "

"So why are you still alive?" Wilma asked from across the room.

"Lab rat," he whispered, terror in his eyes. He swallowed. "My great-grandfather had a map to something they wanted, that got passed down to me, like an heirloom, you know? Not to something real, but just a family thing. They came after me to get it, and I gave it to some people who opposed them instead. When I did that, they grabbed me - and- and since then-" he curled into himself and sniffed. "I don't even know how long I've been gone," he said, his voice tight with unshed tears.

It gave them all pause. All the marks on his arms took on a new significance. "All right then, " the sheriff said, and gave Wilma a list of places to call while he went for another phone. Jerry e-mailed the information as fast as he could. Sam asked to use the bathroom. He came out and sat in a more comfortable chair that Wilma silently pointed out. She was putting together some kind of information packet. He offered to help. After a moment, she accepted and asked him to put together the papers as she stapled. They worked together silently. Sam tensed every time he heard a car.

One stopped in front of the station. Sam froze, listening hard. Then car doors slammed as voices sounded, and he went back to stapling papers. When the doors opened, Sam looked over and put down the papers, moving quickly. "Epps?" he said.

"Good to see you alive, kid," the big black soldier said kindly. "I'm staying until Will gets here, but we got you a ride. Come on." Within moments Sam was in what looked like a delivery van, heading for the nearest military airport, where a plane was waiting. Sam started talking in the van, as soon as a recorder was produced. He stopped three times: to get into the plane, to eat the sandwich and juice they produced, and when they replaced the battery. They were landing soon after the memory was filled. At the Special Defenses base, they fed him again and sent him to take a shower. After half an hour, they reminded him that he would be able to take another shower later and gave him new clothes.

They did an MRI after reminding Sam that a magnetic imaging machine used magnets. They found something in Sam's heart, and sent him to surgery, pulling the tiny device out through the large veins in his groin. As per protocol, a nurse went over him to report skin damage that was already present before the surgery. He recorded over forty bruises and scratches of varying age and size on Sam, adding up to about a fourth of his skin area. The nurse asked Sam what happened to him as they were injecting sedative into the IV. "We're squishy," Sam said. Then they asked if he was comfortable. He told them how grateful he was to have something for pain and described some of the tests Scalpel had done without anesthetic.

They assured him that the device was destroyed. They let him have a video phone call with his parents, in which all three of them cried. By this time Sam had shaved and pulled his hair back, and so looked more like the son they knew, but they could see he had lost a lot of weight. They promised that he could be in regular contact with them but for safety reasons he would remain at the base for a time. Ron and Judy did not like that and pointed out that Sam was still a minor. But Sam did not want his parents in danger, and as long as Megatron had plans for him, they would be.

The next day Lennox showed up. Instead of hauling Sam into an interrogation room, he offered him a recorder to hang around his neck and took him for a walk. Sam talked and answered questions. He went over every weakness of the Decepticons he could remember, both as individuals and as a group. He did his best on a map of the base, when they stopped at a picnic table and Lennox produced paper from the backpack he had on, but he knew the outside better than the interior, because Megatron would sometimes walk the perimeter with Sam on his shoulder, but when inside, he was normally in the pen or in a closed room. There was a beep as the record reported that it was full. Will put everything away and they started walking again.

"Is there a reason you're alive?" Will asked. Sam shuddered, and told him about the exoskeleton, and the lectures from Scalpel, the conversations with the Decepticons, and Megatron's constant advice to stop fighting. They walked in silence for a time. "It's called brainwashing, kid," Will said finally. "They want you to think you don't have any choices, that you're stuck with them, that you're helpless. I don't what it is that had him fixated on you for his lab rat, but let me tell you something." He stopped and looked around, and then lowered his voice. "When I talked to Optimus before he and the other left- they managed to put Bumblebee back together first, so we had a little time to talk- he said that he would have followed through on his original plan, but he thought that the All-Spark was talking through you."

Sam considered. He remembered the feeling that something was moving his mouth. He described it to Will. Will nodded. "And what happened next?" Sam described being snatched and taken to the base in Megatron's jet form, a situation he would have done just about anything to get out of at the time. He talked about the cage, the pen, and the tracker. "Yeah," Will said, "they told me about the tracker thing. "

"Will-look, I know this sounds crazy, but I mean it, I'd rather die than go in that thing. The idea of being Megatron's programmed slave for eternity- I can't stand it. "

Will looked at the teenager facing him. Sam looked desperate and completely sincere. "Look, kid, you're safe here. Besides, why would they go to all the trouble of tracking you down? They'll just stick somebody else in it. We'll just have to be sure to slag the thing to kingdom come. Think about it. You were right there. You aren't a trained soldier, you're young, which meant they could mess with your mind easier, and you're healthy, or you were when they got hold of you. You were a target of opportunity."

Sam considered, and felt much better. "Yeah, you're right, but Scalpel," there was real hate in the teen's voice, "said it had to be tailored to me. "

"Like they can't stick any human in the shell thing?"

Sam nodded. "That they had to do the tests because of that. Megatron said he was programming it himself. "

"And they could have been blowing a ton of smoke at you, too. Why the hell would they tell you the truth? " He guided Sam over to the building. " Besides, kid, I promise you, we're going to give them something else to think about for a while, when we go to clean out that base. I'm going to get these notes put together. We're going to get somebody professional who knows the score to talk to you some more, and in the meantime, you get some meat on those bones and try to relax a little. It's over." He gave Sam a push toward the civilian guest quarters and watched the kid walk away.

The kid gave them some damned good information. He just wished there had been another way to get it. He thought of his own daughter, and moved, determined to make this freaked out world safer for her. He did not know that in another state, former members of Sector Seven, determined to get their agency reinstated, had plans for the device.

Elsewhere, a mechanical voice said, "We found him. The government is keeping him in 'protective custody' at one of their bases. Wheelie says he is being well cared for and never seems to stop refueling. It seems the tracker was taken elsewhere. He has not seen or heard of a formal interrogation yet. "

"Good. Tell Wheelie to keep watch and report changes. We will teach the humans a lesson in daring to challenge us, and I will teach the boy a lesson in defying me. "

Sam tried to take Will's advice. Part of it was easy; there was real food here. He ate everything fresh he could get his hands on. He went outside and walked in the trees every chance he got. He listened to music and watched television and surfed the Internet. He spoke to Miles, Mikaela, and his parents by web phone. The only condition for using the phone was for someone from security to be nearby monitoring the conversation, and he had to check in with someone when he went outside. The bruises and scratches healed.

He started having nightmares of going into the exoskeleton, of being told to kill his parents and his body doing it while his mind screamed. Twice someone came in to wake him because they heard him screaming. On the second day, a therapist came and put him through a lot of psych tests, and then listened to him for some time. At the end of the session, he set up a conference call with Sam's parents and told all of them that Sam was suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, and that he did need some therapy. He also gave him some pills to sleep with. He suggested that Sam write out his experiences.

His parents came to visit. They argued hard for Sam to come home, but when the agents refused, citing that all of them would be in danger in a known home area and that they needed Sam for a while longer. Sam wanted to go home, but he feared for his parent's safety. When they left, he went to his room and stayed quiet for a long time.

Sam was working on his journal, a Coke and some bananas sitting on the picnic table beside him, when one of the agents asked him to come in. Sam whined, but obediently folded the laptop and came inside. "There's some action starting, " the agent said, "and it's safer inside."

"The attack on the base?"

"Classified, youngster. We'll tell you more when we can. "

Sam sighed. Well, there were movies he had not watched, and games he had not played. Then he spotted a remote control monster truck. "Hey, whose is that? Can I take it to the gym and play with it a while?" He walked over to see if he could find the remote, and when he did, the toy truck moved just a little. "Looks like someone already has the remote," he said, before stopping and looking closer.

"I've never seen this before," said the agent at the desk. He got up and walked past Sam, reaching to pick the toy up and look at it. That was when the headlights blinked.

Sam shrieked, "It's a 'Con!" The truck rammed into the agent, who was reaching for his weapon. Racing for the desk, Sam hit the emergency button as the by now transformed mini-Con came at him. With one well placed kick, Sam threw the 'Con back as agents with weapons drawn came charging into the room. While the "Con cursed, they got Sam away and started firing until it stopped twitching at all. Sam was literally shaking by the time the noise died down.

"Come on, son, let's get you to the infirmary," said the agent that hauled Sam out of the room. He tried to guide Sam out.

"You don't understand," Sam said, "that thing's already told somebody I'm here and probably most of the layout of this place. You've got to get everyone out right now. These things call us insects, and they mean it! They'll kill anyone in their way just for the hell of it. Everybody has to leave, not just me!" He knew his voice hit a high note that should have been impossible at his age.

"Calm down and tell me more," the agent said. Sam told them that there was some way that the 'Cons communicated with each other and that there was one in with the satellites that monitored communications.

"When I got out before they just set up perimeters and ran me down after a while. If he," Sam waved at the still Decepticon form in the other room, " gave them coordinates, they'll be able to do it again. If they come and I'm not here, they might tear down the building looking for me or question you guys on where I am. And humans aren't people to them! They'll kill people like ants or spiders or roaches, and they knew how to hurt people until they talk or you do what they want. " He knew he sounded hysterical, but he was doing his best to make them understand.

"All right, all right. Settle down, we can't just run around like scared mice here. You go in your room and put your stuff together." He began to walk, pulling Sam away by a hard grip on his arm.

"Can you contact Will and let him know what's going on?" he asked, desperate for someone who might understand. The agent's eye's flickered a little. "Is Will okay?"

"As far as I know he's fine," the agent said. "He's-busy." It hit Sam that the attack on the base might be happening, and if so, he might consider that the Decepticons would not bother with Sam until that matter was settled.

"Look, one big bot and this place could be toast in no time," Sam tried again.

"We know what we're dealing with," the agent said, annoyed, and firmly escorted Sam the rest of the way to his room. One of the other agents with some medical training was waiting for Sam there. He took the time to sooth Sam down and got him to eat the light meal of soup and salad waiting there. He advised Sam to get a shower and lie down for a while, that as they might have to evacuate the base and he should get some rest. Sam did take a shower but he got dressed in practical outdoors clothes afterward. Then he tried to leave the room. The door was locked. He banged on it for a while, demanding to be let out. After a time, he went to work on the computer. At some point, he put his head back and went to sleep.

He woke to the sound of crashing and yelling. He tried his door again. It was still locked. He tried kicking it, and only hurt his leg. He listened, and heard the familiar voice, "Come out, boy!"

Instead of panicking, or cowering in a corner, he went to the bathroom. There were three bottles in the medicine cabinet. One was the sleeping pills. He used the glass he had at the sink for water and got them all down. Then he methodically swallowed all the Tylenol in the bottle. It was about halfway full. The aspirin came next. He figured that if there was a false alarm, he could throw up or they could take him to the hospital. The noises he heard were not encouraging. He tried again to get out of the door, with no luck. Screams were adding in to the mix.

Then he got on the laptop and wrote a farewell letter to his parents, saying all the things he always wanted to tell them and never did. He wrote one to Mikaela, not as a girlfriend but as a friend, and one to Miles. He saved the letters and hid the laptop under the bed. The laptop did not have internet access.

The noise stopped. He listened hard. Then he tried the door again, and started banging on it. Suddenly something slammed into the door, and he stumbled back. The next blow splintered the door. One piece scrapped him on the cheek, and he put a hand against his face, coming away with blood.

Ravage stalked into the room, backing Sam into a corner. Sam tried to get past him, only to be thrown back. Then Ravage tilted his head. Sam tried to get past him, and suddenly he was on his back with Ravage over him. Ravage simply pinned him. Sam wailed that his arms were being broken, and Ravage adjusted his weight but kept him pinned. Then the ceiling caved in, and Ravage's position kept Sam from being hit by large pieces of debris, though he sneezed and coughed at the dust. Soon after Ravage jumped back; before Sam could even sit up, another hand lifted him.

"Very good, Ravage," Megatron purred. "How does it feel to be betrayed by your own kind, Sam? You escaped me, only to be locked up again. So sad."

He held Sam so the boy could see the devastation. The building was in ruins. Bodies were everywhere. "No," he whispered. "They thought they were protecting me. I tried to tell them-"The medicines were making everything seem unreal.

"Of course they're fools. They held a being better than they for several of their generations, did they not? Played with the Cube like a new toy? And you ran to them and gave them all the information you could, didn't you?" He turned Sam to face him, and shook him, hard, when Sam tried to turn away. "Look at me!" Sam turned his tearstained face to the huge Decepticon. "You could not have done better for me if you tried. First we get to pick off most of the experienced soldiers when they attack the base. Then the tracker led us to our old friends at Sector Seven. They thought they were ready for us. They were wrong. "

"No!" The wail was heartbroken. Sam turned away, and his eyes fell on a decapitated corpse. He choked. Knowing the sound, Megatron moved him so the purging was on the ground and not on him. When Sam was down to dry heaves, Megatron started moving away.

"Now I have you back. Do you know, one of them tried to bomb your shell? It would have been a pity to begin again, since we've completed it. The only thing left to prepare is you. "

Barricade was in the med-bay when Megatron brought their escaped human back to the base. Scalpel was repairing his leg, which was badly damaged by a sabot round. Most major injuries were already dealt with; Megatron waited to get the boy until the fights were over. The tracker started working again two days after the boy escaped, briefly. Then it stopped again, only to signal some time later. They investigated both areas.

Megatron ruled that they would deal with the military and the Sector Seven trap before dealing with the boy. Scalpel expressed irritation several times over the boy not refueling enough, which would cause problems with the transfer as he would need some fuel reserves to survive until he could be rebooted. Since the boy seemed to be refueling well at the human's base, Megatron saw no reason not to leave him there until the Decepticon leader had the leisure to retrieve him. Wheelie would warn them if the agents decided to move him.

They had not quite cleared the base when the military attacked. The battle was short and sharp and ended with serious casualties for the humans and few for the Decepticons. Then they sprang Sector Seven's trap. Megatron ordered that a group of agents be spared. They needed test subjects for some of the riskier implants the boy would need.

They had just finished the cleanup from the trap and settled the agents when the boy discovered Wheelie. Megatron moved swiftly; if they took the boy away, as they would if they had any intelligence at all, then finding him again might well be difficult.

Instead, they locked the boy into his room and tried to get orders. There was not one agent there willing to act without prior authorization. The Decepticons attacked the base, killed everyone there, retrieved the boy, and cleared out the food before the authorities even knew they were there.

Megatron brought the boy to the med-bay. The boy was heavily asleep and had been since shortly after they left the base. He laid the boy on the berth by Barricade and peered over at the agents incarcerated nearby. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it," he purred to the shivering agents. He had taken their clothes as soon as they reached the base. They only cowered away. He covered the opening so that the boy would not see them.

Scalpel trotted over and turned to Sam. After considerable poking and prodding and a scratch to sample the boy's blood, he asked if the boy had purged. Sam did not stir as the tiny medic checked him over. When the answer was positive, he snapped, "Chemicals. He'll sleep it off, the levels aren't high enough to do real harm." The medic went back to his repair, and Megatron left.

The repair was almost complete when Sam finally stirred. He pushed himself up and heaved twice. Nothing came up; there was nothing to come up. The youth fell back and stared at the ceiling until Scalpel came over and poked him. Sam grabbed the medic and threw him off the berth. He started to jump off, but Barricade caught him. Sam struggled and started to curse hoarsely. When Scalpel got close to him again, Sam did his best to hit the tiny medic again. Scalpel stayed out of range until Barricade pinned the hysterical human to the medical berth.

Scalpel shocked him, and Sam screamed, in rage and pain. "Be quiet," the medic scolded, and shocked him again. This time he got too close to Sam's leg and Sam kicked him. Barricade squeezed hard enough that Sam could not breathe, and after a few seconds, let go. Sam gulped air and was quiet. Barricade shifted his grip to pin Sam's arms and legs, and Scalpel examined him roughly.

"No physical damage from chemicals," the medic decided. "With food and water you'll recover. " Sam glared. Scalpel moved to finish Barricade's repair, as the front-liner contacted his leader and passed on the diagnosis. Receiving instructions, he picked Sam up while Scalpel worked on him. Repair complete, he stood and took the boy away. Sam looked around. This was nothing like the other base. Barricade knocked on a huge door, and Sam heard Megatron respond. Barricade came in and headed toward a corner where something with bars stood. The front-liner lifted the top and set Sam inside.

It was like the pen in some ways but not in others. It held a mattress in one corner, which was new. There were blankets on it, which was new. It had a few sets of shelves. There were boxes all over the floor. It still held the toilet. Sam investigated the boxes listlessly. He found water in bottles as usual, and opened one, sipping slowly so that he would not get sick again. For something to do, he methodically investigated the boxes and sorted them. Clothes went onto one set of shelves. He put on a layer or two while he was searching, as he was chilly. Water went on another shelf, and then he sorted the food into canned and not canned. There were some spoons, packets of sugar, salt, ketchup, and pepper, and a bottle of Mrs Dash. He wondered how the hell that got stuck in there. There were packets of hot chocolate and a box of teabags. There was instant coffee, instant grits, instant oatmeal in flavors, instant mashed potatoes, and a packet of Butter Buds. There were packets of trail mix, peanuts, sunflower seeds, and dried fruit. Another box yielded plastic dishes and cups, including some coffee cups.

Where the hell had all this stuff come from? And how the hell was he supposed to use it? He didn't see a microwave around here anywhere, or a stove. He got more water and sipped at it while stacking the boxes out of the way. Then he searched for something to eat.

After a few minutes he gave up. After eating three solid good cooked meals a week, with all the fresh food he could want and all the sweet sugary drinks he wanted, he could not face cold canned food again. He thought of his parents, and was deeply grateful that he had not gone home. Would his father be the one lying beheaded on the grass?

That thought almost sent him to the toilet. He went to the bed and set up the blankets. He had tried so hard to warn the agents, who had been kind to him, and instead they locked him in a room. He had given them every piece of information they had, they had Mission City to look back on, and instead of listening and getting out, they sat tight, sure that they were safe and making sure that the boy was staying put in that safety as well, certain that as adults, they knew better.

He cried until he slept on the way back. He devoutly wished he had died. He was not sure he would have the courage to kill himself if it was going to really hurt.

"You should eat." Sam jumped a mile when he heard that, and looked over to see Megatron kneeling beside the cage. He was so absorbed in his own misery that he did not hear the Decepticon leader approach. "Come here." The teenager came out of the corner and stopped in the middle of the cage. "You have gone most of a day without refueling. We have acquired a better variety of fuel here."

Sam looked at the leader and considered just how clueless he was about food. "I don't want to eat cold food when I'm cold, and I don't have anything to cook with," he finally explained. "No microwave, no stove, no heat." Megatron considered. From his time with the 'Cons he knew that the Decepticon leader was contacting someone. Before too much longer, Hook appeared with something that looked like a box. It was a tiny heater, but it was large enough for the cups and the bowls. Sam pulled a can of soup, dumped it into a cup and managed to heat it. Hook looked surprised when he was dismissed and Sam absently thanked him between sips. Megatron watched as Sam absorbed the soup.

He set Sam up in his quarters for several reasons. He had numerous defenses on his personal space perimeter, and if Sam got out of the cage, those would keep him in the room. No one else came into the room without his permission, so Sam would not be harassed by the other Decepticons. Anyone taking Sam out of the cage would be personally responsible for him for that time period.

The former pen was now the holding cell for Sector Seven agents who survived the 'trap.' The tops of the walls were modified to prevent escape. Scalpel needed test subjects for the implants before they went onto Sam.

Megatron wanted Sam to survive the transition from human to drone. Sam had courage and strength that had nothing to do with size, but he had also denied Megatron the Cube and defied him. He wanted this human to be the drone that would be his devoted servant. He did not want a fighter; he wanted a personal attendant.

Isolated, dependent on Megatron for protection and all of his basic needs, and still young even by human standards, Sam would learn to bend to Megatron's will. The Decepticon leader, watching the boy refuel, looked forward to the challenge.

...

Simmons listened to the noises outside the holding tank. He was curled into himself against the cold. He could swear he heard someone human cry out earlier, though, something about eyes, before there was murmuring, some of which sounded comforting. The other sounds had him retreating. They were too familiar.

When they were brought here the first time, they were crowded. The damned robots dumped them here, stripped of everything but their skin. At first they thought there was no heat, but the first time each of them was taken out and the outside door opened, they discovered different. It was only warm enough to keep them alive, but that was warmer than outside the lab. There was food, but they learned early to ration it. They never knew when there would be more. It came often enough to keep them from starving, but not much more. Of course, as they died, there was more to share.

The robots would grab anyone at random. You never knew which side they would come from. You never knew what they would do. At first, it was clear that the robots did not know the meaning of anesthetic. The first two lab rats died fast and loud. The third screamed for only a short time. He came back with metal stuff all down his spine. The stuff looked a little like the ports on the back of the computer. NBE1 came, grabbed him, and poked something he pulled out of nowhere but that was attached to him somewhere into the ports. Both the NBE and Williams went quiet, before the NBE dropped Williams back in the holding rooms, growled, "Insects," in a tone that translated into hate very well indeed, and stomped off.

Williams started a fever two days later and died not long after. They took him out to look at why he died and then the little doctor demanded information from them. One agent, Jackson, once trained as an EMT and explained infection as well as he could. The next one grabbed got sockets in his neck, but there was no infection. This time the jet came in and tested the device. While the two were linked, Thompson had a seizure. He could not move one side of his body after the seizure stopped and two days later he died.

Each lab rat lasted a little longer than the others, but the poor and scanty food, with the constant cold, weakened all of them and made them more likely to react poorly to the experiments, until only Simmons was left.

He saw the world differently now, literally, as they had worked on his eyes.

After a time, he heard the sound of the feet approaching again, but this time they only laid something in the holding cell and left, after putting something down by it. Simmons approached cautiously. He could feel and _see _warmth. As he came closer, he could see that the bundle was someone, wrapped in what looked like a blanket and that the thing next to him was giving off the heat. Simmons settled next to the heat and regarded the sleeper.

They had set the person on his side and he was completely covered. Carefully, Simmons moved the blanket to peek at him. The face was a shock. The eyes were covered in something mechanical, now. Simmons suspected his own eyes looked like that. The ear he could see was altered as well, with shiny metal flat to his head. He was bald, with no eyelashes or eyebrows. As Simmons looked over more of the body, he realized that this was who the experimenting was for. Everything that was tried first on the agent lab rats happened to this guy. There were the sockets in the neck and limbs and the ports on the back. Simmons glimpsed metal at the groin and hastily covered that back up. Several agents died in that particular effort.

The person stirred. "Someone there?" he asked, and his voice had a metallic edge to it. The eyes did not move.

"I'm here. I'm Simmons." Simmons hated his first name, and never used it if he could help it." Who're you?"

"Sam Witwicky," he said. "Agent Simmons?" He moved, but very carefully. Simmons could sympathize. "I can't see," he said, and made a soft keening sound. "Megatron won't let anyone else put the software in. What are you doing here?"

He recalled that the NBE's always came and plugged in to make the parts work. "I'm the last lab rat left. They tried the eyes on me first."

"They did? " Simmons told him about the trap, and how it failed miserably, how everyone who survived was brought here. "I didn't know," Sam said, shifting a little. "They came for me last. They knew where I was, they had one of the small 'cons there to keep an eye on me, and when I caught it, the agents locked me in my room." He keened again, sobs washing through him. "Nobody really listened to me. I told them, I told them everything I knew, and they wouldn't listen."

"Hush, kid. It's okay." They both knew better, but the kid quieted. "What are they doing to you?"

"Megatron's making me into a drone. They made an exoskeleton, and all the stuff on me is to hook me into it." He sobbed softly again. "When I gave the Cube to Optimus, I thought he would go after them to get it." Simmons listened as Sam described the incident. "He said I was going to pay him back by being his drone, that I'll be programmed to want to please him. He's already started downloading stuff."

"Download? You've got a human brain, kid. Computers download."

Sam made what might have been a laugh. "I have an organic computer. That's what some of the ports are for, downloading information. Though sometimes he connects and then I just watch his memories. It's really weird, doing that." They were quiet for a time, Sam just breathing.

"Hurting, kid?" Simmons wondered how long it had been since the kid had talked to another human.

"I'm running a little fever," the boys murmured. "I always do, after an implant. I think this was the last one, before I go in." He keened softly again. "I tried so hard. I got away three times. After the last time and everyone got killed, I kept trying to die. It never worked. After the last time, Megatron told me he knew where my parents were and he'd kill them in front of me if I didn't cooperate. One of the flyers showed me a video of them. And they started watching to make sure I ate enough, they put a tube down my throat if I don't and use that. It hurts like hell. Megatron recharges with me lying over his spark, under his hands. He says it's the only way to keep me warm, until I don't need to worry about being cold anymore. He's claiming me, and I can't stop it"

He stiffened, head tilted. "He's coming," the boy said, his voice calmer now. "Better hide." Simmons took the advice and retreated, hating to leave the warmth. A minute or two passed, and Simmons began to wonder if the boy was wrong, but before he could move, he heard the footsteps and rough mechanical voices. He saw NBE1 come in and reach down to pick Sam up. Carefully the huge mechanoid moved the blanket to examine the human in his hand. Seen all at once, the amount of metal on the boy was startling.

"You are warmer than usual," the large mech rumbled. Sam was shivering. "Scalpel?"

"It is a natural reaction to the surgery, master," the small medic responded. "It is safe to download the operating system for the optics." Simmons watched as Megatron turned Sam over, exposing the line of the port down Sam's spine and the back of his neck. Pulling the line from God knew where, he plugged it into Sam's back. Sam jerked a little as the plug hit home, but otherwise did not react. Other than Megatron wrapping the blanket over Sam, they were still. Then Sam's eyes glowed red. The red was interrupted by a few blinks.

"I'm seeing red," Sam said. Megatron rumbled in what sounded like laughter. "It's like seeing your memories," the boy went on. He curled up and murmured something Simmons did not catch.

"Less human, yes," Megatron said, beginning to walk away, "but closer to one of us."

Simmons heard Sam's response this time. "I'll never be one of you. I'll be alone. None of you will ever forget I started as a human. I'll be a freak."

"You'll be mine. Be still and let Scalpel test your sight." They went out of his hearing. Simmons snuck closer to the heater again.

He never thought he would believe this, but he felt sorry for the kid. Simmons would die, and it would be over. The kid's problems would last a lot longer. That was his last thought as Hook came in, closing the door behind him. "Forgot about you," he rumbled, as he picked up the heater and looked around for the cowering agent. Moments later, there was only a splash of red left on the floor, and not long after, a 'con on punishment detail took care of that little detail as he cleaned the floor and grumbled.

A week later, Megatron carried Sam into the med bay, where the exoskeleton waited for him. Sam was cocooned into a blanket. Megatron laid him on the table, and Scalpel messed with the back of his neck. Sam went limp, unable even to shiver as they unwrapped him. With great care, the Decepticon leader and the medic placed his back so that the ports fit into the exoskeleton. The arm sockets were attached next, as the room filled with fascinated Decepticons. After that came the legs, and then the groin. Finally, Scalpel undid the paralysis. Sam said nothing and did nothing as Megatron carefully pressed Sam's head back, attaching the neck socket into the exoskeleton. Optic met optic, red meeting red, as Megatron silently stroked Sam's cheek and stepped back to watch the sides close over the human form.

Tension hummed in the room, as everyone waited. In the silence, the hum of the exoskeleton activating was loud. Scalpel checked the graphs on his instruments. "The final connections are completed, Master. The final transition is in progress." The final transition would enable the new drone to use energon. The human body would be changed into a kind of circuitry that would run the exoskeleton. The body could be transferred into a different exoskeleton at a later date if needed.

Several months later, summoned by an alarm, Megatron hurried into the med bay. He looked at the monitors, and then over at the stirring form on the table. Red optics were open and looking around, puzzled. He walked over. At the sound of heavy feet on the floor, the drone turned. Megatron bent over the new drone, meeting the frightened look in the innocent gaze, and plugged in.

"Hello, Alpha," he said softly, and stroked the silver helm as he finished the programming of his new servant.


End file.
